


Schrödinger Might Disagree

by Skitz_phenom



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: First Time, Hurt Rodney, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Near Death Experiences, Pining, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-17 10:47:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14830845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skitz_phenom/pseuds/Skitz_phenom
Summary: A mission goes wrong, the natives are a bit beyond restless, and Rodney really hates being the guy that gets hit by the projectiles. And there's definitely something about a cat...





	Schrödinger Might Disagree

**Author's Note:**

  * For [respoftw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/respoftw/gifts).



> respoftw - you requested two of my favorite fandoms, and it was so tough to choose - but I really, really wanted to give you something I'm pretty sure is on your list of favorite things: Rodney & hurt/comfort. I hope this offering fits the bill because I had so much fun writing it!

Rodney wakes up slowly and with some effort.

In parallel to struggling his way to consciousness comes the dawning realization that there’s a quality to his rousing which tells him he’s not waking up from being asleep. At least not a normal ‘went to bed sometime around 2am Atlantis time after a long night spent in the labs and too much coffee’ kind of sleep. 

No, this has more of the feel of a ‘has been unconscious for some unknown reason and is now coming to’ kind of thing.  And as he fights his way to the surface he’s aware enough for it to occur to him that it’s probably not the most normal thing in the world that he’s got such a catalog of waking-up experiences that are frequent and familiar enough that he can determine whether or not he’s waking up from a natural sleep.  And in the case that he’s not, he can also determine – generally by the feel of things – what kind of other-influenced sleep it was. 

In this particular situation there’s no pounding headache or skull pain which tells him that he wasn’t physically knocked out.  Which is good. It doesn’t have the same lingering metallic-taste-in-the-mouth and cotton-headed sort of thing caused by a stunner blast either. Also, good. Nor does it feel like coming out of something medically induced; he’s not hallucinating at least.  Generally, another good thing.

Still, there’s something about it that tells him that it’s just not right.

His suspicions are confirmed when he blinks open his eyes, they find focus and he sees Ronon staring down at him.  Well, that and the fact that the hulking silhouette of Ronon is set against a backdrop of dimly lit natural stone walls and a curved ceiling that’s studded with mineral heavy stalactites.

So, a cave somewhere.

Waking up in a cave. Fantastic.

He tries to sit up.  And that’s when he notices that his body isn’t responding properly.

“What the hell?” he mutters. Or tries to.  Because it feels like half of his face isn’t cooperating and the words are garbled and slurred.

That flips one of the innumerable ‘oh shit’ switches in his head.  “Oh my god, I’ve had a stroke.” It comes out a bit more clearly simply due to the brute force of panic, but still flat and one-sided enough that he knows there’s something seriously wrong.

“Relax, Doc,” Ronon says, infuriatingly calm. “You didn’t have a stroke.”

Rodney tries to lift his right arm, to gesture at his face, but it doesn’t move. The left responds, albeit sluggishly. “So, what’s with this?” He circles a pointer finger vaguely at his right side.

“Bortari nerve dart. Caught you at the gate this morning.”

Ah. Shit. Well that would explain things.  “Did you get it out?” he asks, trying – and failing spectacularly – to reach around to feel at his back.  The darts are a wicked little bit of technology that embed in the skin and target nerves and send out little electric pulses that disrupt communication with the brain.  Weirdly, the Bortari use them in conjunction with primitive blow guns.

Ronon shakes his head. “We didn’t want to risk it.  They got you right at the base of your skull.”

Sometimes when the connection of the dart is invasive enough, removing it can cause unintended side-effects or even permanent nerve damage. Leaving the dart in is annoying, but the smart thing to do until they can get him back to the infirmary and Atlantis’s ancient scanning technology.

With his own wellbeing ascertained, Rodney tries as best as he can to roll his head to either side to look around. “Sheppard? Teyla?” He doesn’t remember much of the morning – and hopes that’s just because he’s a bit addled from the nerve dart, and not any permanent memory loss – but there’s a vague recollection of Sheppard and Teyla running just a few yards behind him in a mad scramble for the gate.

Ronon jerks his head to the side, though he keeps his eyes on Rodney, “Safe. Out. Sheppard’s scouting and Teyla’s hunting.”

Which tells him that they’re settling in for a wait. It also tells him that Ronon drew the short-straw when it came to sticking back to keep an eye on him. Rodney figures it’s safer not to mention that. Ronon seems unusually surly. Though he’s still checking Rodney over dutifully, testing the sense of feeling in his fingers by squeezing them, and poking him on the legs at various spots.

Silent for a few moments, Rodney works his jaw from side to side, trying to get some range of motion back. He doesn’t like slurring and sounding like he’s drunk.

“How far are we from the gate?” It’s a little bit clearer.

“Couple of clicks,” Ronon tells him. He’s picked up military parlance quite comfortably. “The Tergians are staking the gate out though. Figuring we’ll make another run. So, we might need to wait for rescue on this one.” He shrugs, pats Rodney once on the chest and then sits down next to him. “Seems like you’re doing pretty good.”

“Is that your official diagnosis, Doctor?” Rodney asks, only half snarkily.

Ronon just grins-slash-bares his teeth, “Yep.”

“Right,” Rodney replies, as his memory starts to return. It’s vague, but he can recall hazy flashes of a meet and greet mission getting cocked-up from the get-go. Angry voices, weapons being drawn, Teyla trying to settle things with calm words and soft gestures, John grabbing his collar and hauling him away from a dawn-lit village square and an urgently hissed, “Run, Rodney!”.

“Right,” he says again. He can’t snap his fingers on his right hand yet, but he manages to point a finger with the left. “We’re on M77-212. It was the Tergians who turned on us. What’re the Tergians doing with Bortari tech though?” Bits of the mission parameters are coming back to him. This was supposed to be a standard check-in with a Pegasus Alliance ally. They’d been conducting these follow-ups almost non-stop since bringing Atlantis back to Pegasus from her overlong stay on Earth nearly five months ago.

Apparently, some of their old allies didn’t take to kindly to their extended hiatus.

“Teyla figures they’ve signed a treaty with the Bortari. Seems like her suspicions were right that there’s a growing faction in the Alliance who’re rebelling.”

“C’mon, two planets isn’t a rebellion,” Rodney protests, but it’s half-hearted. He knows there’ve been other gate teams who’ve gotten chilly receptions lately; only last week Lorne’s team had come through hot from a planet they used to trade with quite frequently. When Woolsey had asked what happened, Lorne had just shrugged and said, “Dunno, Sir. They started slinging rocks as soon as we got to the village. We didn’t stick around to ask why.”

“Think the Genii are behind this.”

“Was that a question or a statement?” Rodney wonders.

Ronon’s shrug isn’t a very helpful answer.

Before he can push Ronon for more on that he sees Ronon’s head lift up and his focus shifts to the opening that widens into the cavern they’re in. He looks wary, but unconcerned, so Rodney isn’t at all surprised when he hears John’s voice.

“Well,” Sheppard is saying as he makes his way through a narrow gap in the stone walls that must lead to the mouth of the cave. “The Tergians have thinned out a bit; only about two patrols guarding the gate right now.”

Ronon grunts in acknowledgement. “Be a good time to get outta here then?”

Sheppard’s about to respond when he looks down, and his eyes widen as they land on Rodney. “Hey, McKay. You’re awake!”

He sounds oddly relieved and Rodney doesn’t think that the smile pulling lines at his eyes and the corners of his mouth is anything but genuine.

“How ya feeling?” Sheppard asks eagerly.

“Like I got hit by a nerve dart,” Rodney can’t help but shoot back.

That just makes John grin wider. “Can you move?” he asks.

“A little bit.” Rodney lifts his left arm and waggles his hand. “Left side is pretty mobile.” He demonstrates again by rocking his left leg from side to side and flexing his foot up and down. “Right side is still pretty numb,” he adds with a crooked frown.  He’s got a better control of his face than anything, but the words still probably sound thick and slow.

“Damn,” Sheppard says. “That’s gonna make our little plan to get outta here a bit more complicated.”

Ronon makes a sound of agreement.

“You guys have a plan?” Rodney asks. Which, of course Sheppard already has a plan. It would be rather silly to assume he didn’t. Although when Sheppard doesn’t immediately respond, and he looks away, eyes flicking to roof of the cavern, Rodney can interpret exactly what John’s plan is.

“Oh, I don’t think so, Sheppard!” he barks out, although lacking the ability to gesticulate wildly takes some of the heat from his words. It’s hard to rant properly without his arms being mobile. “So,” he goes on, managing a few flailing motions with the left arm, “let me guess. You were going distract the guards at the gate, while Teyla, Ronon and I made a run for it?”

“Eh, something like that.” Sheppard shrugs nonchalantly. Like he isn’t being all self-sacrificing yet again. “Hadn’t quite worked out all the details.”

Rodney snorts derisively. “Why am I not surprised that was your genius plan?”

Sheppard smirks down at him. “Well, since our resident genius was unconscious, someone had to step-up and do the planning.” His eyes are rather twinkly, and he doesn’t look at all chastened by Rodney’s disapproval.

“Well, I’m awake now. And I’m sure I can come up with something that doesn’t include leaving you behind.”

“We’re gonna have to do something, Rodney. We’re still almost ten hours until we’ll be overdue for check-in.” He looks across Rodney to Ronon. “Remind me to tell Woolsey that in the near future we’ve gotta start setting earlier check-ins, even from planets that are part of the alliance. These guys are supposed to be our friends. There’s something hinky going on with this alliance.”

“Yeah, Teyla thinks so too,” Ronon agrees.

“We’ll have to update all of our offworld protocols. At least until we’ve got a better idea who’s with us still.”

“Yep.” Ronon nods again.

“Well, that’s good for the gate teams and good for future missions where we’re not stranded on a planet and stuck in a cave,” Rodney interrupts. “But there’s still our current circumstances to deal with.”

“Well, I suppose we could settle in for the long haul,” Sheppard says like he’s toying with the idea. “I mean, Teyla’s sure to be back soon with some game.” And there’s absolutely no doubt that’s the truth. “And, once Atlantis contacts us after we’re overdue, we can have them send a cloaked jumper through, which bypasses the problem of the patrols around the gate.”

“Right,” Rodney agrees, but finds himself saying it warily. Because that seems like the most sensible option – yeah it involves waiting in a cave for ten hours, but they’ve done plenty worse – but there’s something around Sheppard’s eyes, a tightness that’s echoed just faintly in his voice. An evasiveness… or maybe fear. There’s something he’s trying to cover up.

“Uh, what am I missing?” Rodney asks.

“What’d you mean?” Sheppard shoots back, at the same time that Ronon also insists, “Nothin’. Everything’s fine.”

Shit. Rodney knows what that means.

“Okay. Come on. Out with it. What aren’t you guys telling me?”

“Look, Rodney, it’s just… we’re a little worried about that dart in your neck.”

“But, I can move,” Rodney protests. “I mean. I’ve got full feeling in my left side and I can talk. I know I can’t walk yet, but… I don’t see why there’d be any concern in waiting. Running for the gate seems like the bigger risk. It’s only ten hours ‘til rescue, right?”

Sheppard does that thing where he rubs at the back of his neck and drags his hand backwards through his hair, starting at his nape, pushing it into an even more unruly mess. “Yeah, um. We think there’s something else going on along with the regular nerve toxin.”

“What?” he blurts out. “What’d you mean?”

Sheppard raises both hands, spreading them, palms out, patting the air and making ‘settle down, calm down’ gestures. “We don’t know for sure, Rodney. And you know, like you said, you seem like you’re doing a lot better.”

“But,” Rodney prompts, because that stance and that tone mean there’s a ‘but’.

“But there’s some discoloration around the injection site where the dart went in. And you know…we’ve only seen that once before with these nerve darts.”

Rodney scrambles to think back on previous missions and he has to go back to a time before Atlantis left the galaxy, when Keller was still around and still CMO. He remembers then: a corporal, young guy. He can’t remember the man’s name, although he’s sure Sheppard knows it. He’d taken a dart to the shoulder, but it had been altered, or maybe just laced with some kind of slow-acting poison. They never did find out if the Bortari had been experimenting with altering their tech, or if it had been modified after the fact – since it hadn’t been the Bortari who’d shot him.

The thing that Rodney recalls with frightening clarity is that the Corporal had _died_ from the secondary effects of whatever the dart had been dosed with. He can remember Jennifer coming to his quarters late that night, defeated and teary-eyed, because she’d been so sure and confident that she could save him. He’d been fine after coming back through the gate. His team had been able to remove the dart while still offworld, he’d gotten full feeling back, and he’d only reported to the infirmary after they gated back because it was protocol.

Eight hours later he was dead.

“Well, shit.” Rodney says. “Yeah, I guess time is a little bit of a factor.”

“Look, Rodney,” Sheppard hurries to say. “We don’t know for sure that this is the same thing. Um, you know. Corporal Hayes hadn’t…” he trails off.

Hayes; that was his name.

Rodney fills in the details that Sheppard can’t seem to. “Right, he didn’t show symptoms of anything for about seven hours. He was out of the infirmary in fact, if I recall.” He remembers Keller blaming herself because she’d released him.  She’d attributed some elevated factors in his bloodwork to the aftereffects of the nerve toxin. It wasn’t until he’d collapsed in the mess that they knew there was anything else wrong. And less than an hour later that he’d coded with Keller and her team frantically trying to bring him back.

Sheppard nods grimly.

“Okay, well. Gotcha.” Rodney returns the nod. “So, the plan. Uh, how’re we…” he starts to ask and then goes silent. Something else isn’t making sense. “Why is Teyla hunting? I mean, we’ve got a dozen MREs between us. And even if we’re not gonna be here much longer,” –he waves a hand between himself and Ronon– “we’ll be sending a jumper back right away.”

“McKay,” Ronon starts, but Rodney cuts him off.

“Oh, wait. Are you both staying behind? You’ll both be the distraction?”

“Him and Teyla, actually,” Ronon confirms.

Which, when Rodney thinks about it, makes more sense because someone is going to have to carry him, and Ronon’s their best candidate.

“We gotta get you to the gate, McKay.”

Rodney understands, he does, and he’s grateful for their concern, but it’s instinct to say, “We can’t just leave those two behind, Ronon.”

“It won’t be for long,” Sheppard argues. “You two’ll go through the gate, send Lorne back through with some marines and a jumper, and we’ll be back in Atlantis before you know it.”

Rodney’s mind must be a little addled still, because there’s something he’s not putting together. There is a reason that Sheppard and Teyla are planning for a longer haul. He looks between Ronon and John again, but neither of them are looking at each other, or him for that matter. They’re both studiously gazing in other directions.

“Okay, someone needs to tell me what the hell else you guys are concerned about.”

When Sheppard just shrugs like he has no idea what he means, Rodney barks out, “Dammit, John. Why is Teyla hunting?”

Still, Sheppard tries to brush it off. “You know Teyla. She gets antsy, stir crazy.”

Rodney snorts. “You know, I’d buy that excuse if you were talking about Ronon.” He flaps his left hand to the side, smacking into Ronon’s knee as he does. “But, Teyla,” he argues.

“All right, look.” Sheppard finally says, though clearly with reluctance. “We’ve got some additional intel. These Tergians, they’ve been doing something to the gate. They’ve got, I dunno… a scrambler or something hooked into the DHD. It seems to be preventing dial-ins.”

“What? I’ve never seen anything like that.” He’s both immediately curious about it, because new tech, and immediately annoyed, because how dare they!

Although, things are finally coalescing. If Sheppard and Teyla can distract most of the squads away from the gate, Ronon stands a better chance of dialing out and getting him back to Atlantis. But the likelihood that they’ll be able to turn around and get a jumper scrambled and a team back through before the Tergians take control back and prevent them from connecting…  Well, it’s pretty slim.

“Where is the nearest gated system from here?” Rodney asks, already planning ahead for a jumper trip to come pick them up.

“It’s uh, not too far,” Sheppard replies evasively.

“Crap,” Rodney mutters. He knows what that means in Sheppard-ese. They’re talking weeks.

Feeling his stomach lurch, Rodney forces the panic back down. Teyla and Sheppard are survivors. They can manage a few weeks roughing it on a planet… Hell, it’ll probably be a vacation for the pair of them. Nevermind the enemy likely to be hunting for them, and their access to nerve darts and…

“Hey,” Sheppard interrupts before Rodney can get too lost in maudlin thoughts. “The Daedalus is only about two weeks out. So, you know, worst case scenario, we can’t get the Tergian’s away from the gate and get back home ourselves, or clear things so you can get a jumper through, we’ll be fine.”

“Oh.” Rodney had forgotten that there was a scheduled delivery from the Daedalus. Caldwell was due with a resupply and the latest batch of new military and science teams.  They had the city running on two and a half zed-pms now. (Thanks to an incredibly lucky find only two weeks after their return to Pegasus: an abandoned planet, a temple half-buried in rubble, a freaky shrine and two zed-p-ms covered in paint and feathers, but still half and fully charged). Of course, that meant a slew of new idiots to deal with in the labs, and…

And he’s getting distracted. He’s obviously still addled from the nerve dart and unconsciousness. “So,” he says refocusing in the situation at hand. “When are we doing this?” Much as he’d like to figure something else out – something that doesn’t involve leaving half of their team behind – it’s clear Sheppard and Ronon (and by extension, Teyla no doubt) are set on this plan of action. There’s no way he’s overruling all of them.

Besides, he doesn’t really have a literal or figurative leg to stand on at this point. Plus, it’s not like he could do much to fend off Ronon if he decides to pick Rodney up and carry him.

“Soon as Teyla gets back, we’ll head out.” Sheppard says. “We wanted to make sure you were awake first. So, you know.”

“Right,” Rodney agrees. “So, I could lecture you about how ridiculous and foolhardy your plan is.” But Rodney is grinning as he says it, and Sheppard just responds with that not-quite-a-smirk thing he does.

“Exactly.”

There’s a sound – rustling and brush scraping rocks – at the mouth of the cave and Sheppard turns, one hand resting casually on the butt of his sidearm in its thigh holster, while Ronon stands, looming over Rodney.

“It is just me,” Teyla calls out, her voice carrying oddly around the bends in the narrow stone passage.

“How’d you do?” Ronon asks.

“I was successful,” she replies and demonstrates that as she deftly slips between the cavern walls. There’s a brace of some kind of native grouse or pheasant tied at her hip and a small, gutted deer-like creature slung over her shoulders.

Ronon nods approvingly. “Nice.” He looks a little bit jealous too.

“Thank you,” Teyla says, clearly pleased. “It was certainly an enjoyable experience.”

“Lemme help you with that. Skin it for you?”

Teyla nods. “I’d appreciate that. As I have these to tend to as well.” She pats the colorful feathers of one of the game birds.

Ronon steps over Rodney and crosses to her, taking the carcass from her shoulders. They disappear back toward the front of the cave.

“So, you’re gonna be okay, right?” Rodney asks. “I mean, you’re not going to do anything dumb, after Ronon and I are gone.”

“Nothin’ dumb.” Sheppard agrees. “You just make sure you get back to Atlantis,” he chides. “Don’t worry about Teyla and me. We can handle ourselves.”

“I know. Just… you know.”

Sheppard does know. No one likes to leave a member of a team behind. To say nothing of leaving half of them.

Rodney feels the weight of about a thousand things he wants to say all pushing at the back of his throat. He hates this moment, when it’s potentially more than just a temporary parting. When it’s maybe goodbye. It’s one of those times when carefully buried feelings come clawing to the surface. He’s never sure if the best move is to shove them back down or risk letting them loose.

He knows it’s probably wishful thinking on his part, but there’s the tiniest bit of him that thinks – okay, _hopes_ – that maybe Sheppard’s looking at him the same way.

But there’s a _big_ difference between the two of them: he doubts Sheppard has to make that choice about whether to let them out. John Sheppard is, by default, a ‘shove them back down and bury them and never speak of them or hint that they exist’ kind of guy. Rodney will be lucky if he gets a ‘See you around, McKay.’

Yeah, okay, maybe there’s a little bitterness around that. But, he’s willing to swallow down a little bitterness. Better that than leaving Sheppard with something he doesn’t want to hear. He can’t fathom hitting Sheppard with a bombshell of his feelings and then leaving him with nothing but time to dig through all that rubble.  That’d be a pretty shitty thing to do.

Still… he’s tempted.

“Okay,” Sheppard drops to a knee next to him. “So. You doin’ okay? Ready for this?”

“Yeah,” Rodney nods. “You and Teyla just–” he starts but Sheppard cuts him off.

“We will. We got this,” Sheppard says, all smooth confidence and smarmy grin.

Just because it’s expected of him – practically the next line in their scripted dialogue of ‘risking death, maybe farewell forever’ banter – Rodney scoffs, “Yeah, yeah. Of course, you do.”

John pats Rodney on the shoulder and smiles down at him.

They stare at each other a moment longer. And maybe it’s just because they’re in a cave, but the air feels still and heavy with everything that’s going unspoken.

Damn, Rodney hates himself so much for wanting to break the silence and let some of those words out. But he doesn’t because… well, because this way he can still pretend Sheppard wouldn’t turn him down. It’s like Schrodinger’s cat, except this time it’s Rodney’s desperate desire to be loved by a man who he probably doesn’t have a chance with. As long as he never asks, or Sheppard never says anything, then love both does and doesn’t exist.

“Ready,” Ronon’s voice cuts through the air and that stillness is shattered.

“Okay,” Sheppard gives Rodney’s shoulder one final squeeze. “We’re gonna do this.” He stands but then leans back down and takes hold of both of Rodney’s arms. Ronon comes over and gets his feet.

“What’re you…”

“You can’t exactly walk, Rodney.” Sheppard tells him, even as they hoist him off the ground and he starts swaying between them. “And we’ve gotta get you out of this cave.”

“I’m not some sack of beans you can haul around, you know.”

“Relax, McKay.” Ronon says, the grin Rodney can’t see evident in his voice. “Soon as we’re outside the cave, you’re going over my shoulder anyway.”

Rodney huffs out a petulant sigh. “Oh, like that’s much better.” Although really, what else did he expect?

Teyla joins them at the mouth of the cave. Her hands are damp, and Rodney figures she probably rinsed them off after she and Ronon finished doing…whatever it was they did to her game. He doesn’t wanna know.

Once Ronon and Sheppard set him down, Ronon moves into Sheppard’s spot at his head and reaches down to grab Rodney by the shoulders. Both Sheppard and Teyla move in to help.  Before he’s hoisted over Ronon’s shoulder, Teyla takes a moment to press her hands to Rodney’s cheeks, and her forehead to his. “Be safe, Rodney. We will see you soon.”

“Right, absolutely, we’ll be back for you right away. No time at all…” Rodney babbles, even as he closes his eyes a long moment and focuses on the pressure of Teyla’s forehead and the gentle spread of her fingers. It’s become such a comfort to him over the years. “Take care of each other, Teyla.”

“We will. You as well, Rodney, Ronon.” She pulls away to treat Ronon to the same brief farewell.

Rodney waits for Sheppard and Ronon’s parting words, but all they do is nod gruffly at each other. Rodney rolls his eyes.

“Two-minute lead?” Ronon asks.

“Yep,” Sheppard agrees. “Unless you hear firing. Then book it to the gate.”

“Yeah, I know. Run my ass off.”

The next thing Rodney knows, he’s being manhandled over Ronon’s shoulder in an over the shoulder carry.

“Ugh, hey. Careful there,” he grumbles. Though it’s more for form than any real complaint. Half of him is still pretty numb and Ronon is careful.

“You’re fine.”

He is, but he’s not going to give Ronon the satisfaction of agreeing.

Sheppard crouches next to him, bringing his face eye-level – albeit upside down – and gives Rodney’s cheek a soft touch. He’s not sure if he’d call it a pat or a stroke, but it’s over too quick to quantify and then Sheppard’s standing and saying, “See ya, Rodney.”

“Yeah,” Rodney sighs, maybe a little bit bitterly. “See ya, John.”

Sheppard gives him a funny look – made even more impossible to interpret hanging upside down – and then he turns to Teyla. “Let’s go.”

She responds with a curt little nod and then they’re off and running; disappearing from sight in a matter of seconds.

Ronon readjusts him slightly and takes a firm grip of the hem of his BDUs and his tac-vest. “Hold on as best you can, McKay,” Ronon warns. “This isn’t gonna feel too good.”

He’s positioned so that his left side is the side hanging free, so he grabs at Ronon’s waist as best as he can with one arm and clenches a fist-full of t-shirt. He’s barely got his grip tightened when Ronon takes off running. 

He was right. It doesn’t feel too good.

Ronon’s shoulder digs into his stomach and his head is bouncing around and he’s probably going to end up with whiplash because he’s got so little control of his muscles; he feels a lot like that sack of beans after all. Everything’s passing in a dizzying blur, so he squeezes his eyes shut to keep from being sick. And maybe it’s the harsh jostling, or maybe it’s the fear spiking through him, or maybe it’s even something interacting with the nerve dart, but Rodney start to drift… losing time and awareness.

Things go dark… and then when they start to come back, there’s nothing but chaos around him between one moment and the next.

It’s all loud noises and shouting and the sounds of gunfire. His head throbs and he feels like he’s going to vomit and he loses sensation in both of his hands and his grip slackens. He’s aware at one point, of the sound of the gate dialing and that familiar rushing rumble of a wormhole forming, and cognizant enough to recognize that means Ronon succeeded in dialing out.

He knows the plan. Ronon’s going to get him home. So, he waits for that welcome sensation of passing through the event horizon.

When it doesn’t come, and doesn’t come and doesn’t come, Rodney finally opens his eyes, realizing they’ve stopped moving. In fact, he’s no longer over Ronon’s shoulder. He’s on the ground, propped up against a boulder.

He looks around anxiously, but Ronon is nowhere to be seen.

Just beyond the rocky formation, he can hear more shouting and commotion, and then – in a moment of deceptive calm – comes the distinct and unmistakable sound of bodies entering a wormhole. At least one… maybe two. He hopes quite fervently that was his team, and not the Tergians.

He also realizes that his blacking out must’ve been the dart still affecting him. Because he tries to shift against the boulders, to turn and see what the hell is going on, and something twinges in his neck, followed by a weirdly cool electrical sensation crawling down his spine. It’s like a trickle of water, or that mild shock of faint amperage that arcs through his fingertips when he accidentally touches shorted out ancient crystals together.

At least his left arm is still working… somewhat. And he’s still got his weapon in his holster. Granted it’s on the wrong side, but he manages to fling his arm across his body and get at the securing strap.

Rodney’s just fumbling to draw his gun – it’s wedged between his thigh and the dirt and doesn’t want to come easy – when he hears the ‘whoosh’ of gate closing.

“Shit,” he mutters.

He’s still pretty damn certain he heard two bodies go through, and nothing after. So, who’s left on the planet?

Should he risk his comms? To see if anyone’s still there?  

Before he can decide, a nearby rustling catches his attention and he struggles with freeing his gun. Fear and panic are good motivators though, and he manages to draw the weapon and raise it, albeit shakily, just as someone bursts through the trees just a few yards away.

It turns out to be a very good thing that he’s still so weak, because it’s Sheppard rushing towards him, and Rodney lets his arm drop into his lap before he can do something stupid, like accidentally pull the trigger.

For a moment, Sheppard looks so utterly relieved to see him, almost shattered with it, but then the mask of a soldier is back, fixed in place. “Don’t put that down yet, McKay,” Sheppard warns as he crosses the space that separates them. 

It’s not difficult to figure that not only is Sheppard running to get _him_ , he’s also running _away_ from someone. Rodney takes aim again, hoping like hell he can stop his arm shaking. Sheppard sees the gun go up, gives a quick nod and then dives forward into the grass, rolling out of the line of fire and leaving his pursuer completely exposed as the man lunges out of the brush.

Rodney squeezes the trigger, twice in rapid succession. There’s an immediate grunt, followed almost instantly by an odd hissing sort of gasp. The man falls with a choking gurgle. It was a lucky shot.

“One more,” Sheppard barks out before Rodney can let his arm fall.

The second Tergian doesn’t rush out like the first, more cautious than his comrade, but he still makes the mistake of getting too close to the brambles and bushes where the crowns of the leaf-bedecked trees no longer keep him camouflaged.

Rodney fires again, feeling the recoil judder up his arm. It makes that electrical sensation crawl down his spine again, but he doesn’t let that stop him from pulling the trigger a second and then a third time when his first shot only wings the Tergian in the arm. Whether his next two are closer to center mass or not he can’t tell, but the Tergian drops.

Sheppard rolls back to his feet, scrambling over to him. “That was fantastic. Really great, Rodney.” He doesn’t give Rodney any time to bask in the praise. “C’mon. We’ve gotta go.” He gets to Rodney’s side, crouches down and manhandles him until he’s able to get a shoulder under Rodney’s gut. He holsters Rodney’s gun. It’s the kind of thing that Rodney might appreciate any other time (well, when half his body isn’t numb), but now he just does what he can to help Sheppard out, pulling himself up across Sheppard’s shoulders with his one good arm.  

It’s not easy for Sheppard to get to his feet with Rodney’s lax body both weighing him down and throwing his balance off, but he manages. “Can you still shoot?”

Can he?

Rodney brings his left arm around and mimes holding his weapon ready. It’s already his off hand, and he’s trembling, but he can manage, especially with Sheppard’s back supporting him. “Yeah,” he confirms. “Yeah. May not be able to hit anything, but I can shoot.”

“Cool. Watch our six, would ya?” Sheppard’s hand curves around his upper thigh and searching fingers crawl along the outside of it until they find his thigh holster and then the weapon in it. It’s a _really_ good thing that half of Rodney’s body is numb. “Here.” Sheppard reaches back to hand Rodney the gun, waiting until Rodney gets a good grip on it. Then he hooks his arm back under Rodney’s right knee and grabs onto Rodney’s right forearm, steadying him in a classic fireman’s carry.

It’s perfect timing, because just as Sheppard starts moving and Rodney cants his head as much as he can to – as Sheppard instructed – watch their six, another Tergian breaches the edge of the forest. He’s got one of the Bortari blow guns up to his mouth, but he stumbles over one of the injured (or dead) men and that gives Rodney the chance to shoot first.

He manages to squeeze off a couple of rounds and he’s not sure if he hits anything, because Sheppard picks up speed, running them into the trees. He’s bobbing around too much to really keep a successful eye out for pursuit, but he fires a couple more times over the next few minutes.

Eventually, he empties the clip and lets his arm go lax. Sheppard is clearly more concerned with getting them to safety than anything else. Not to mention, he’s fairly sure that if it was Teyla and Ronon who got through the gate, the Tergians are going to have their own concerns; namely, keeping the ‘gate occupied with their jamming tech to prevent Atlantis reinforcements from getting through.

They run – well, Sheppard runs – a dizzyingly circuitous route back to their cave and it takes them more than twice as long to get back there. But it’s where he and Teyla had planned on holing up, so it wouldn’t do for any of the Tergians to be able to track them there.

When they finally reach the cave, Sheppard has to hoist Rodney down from his shoulders because there’s no getting through that narrow passage carrying him. It’s awkward, but with Sheppard’s support he manages to hop on his left foot through the corridor of stone. Once it opens to the wider depths, Sheppard eases him down to the sand-covered floor and then he collapses next to Rodney, propped up only by the cool stone.

“You doin’ okay?” Sheppard gasps out, panting heavily. His brows and forehead are slick with sweat.

Rodney’s amazed he can even manage speech, considering he probably ran more than a mile – maybe even two – with the deadweight of a teammate over his shoulders.  

“I’m okay. I’m fine, John.” He doesn’t mention the little lightning shocks occasionally jolting down from the base of his neck, or the fact that even his left side is starting to get tingly. He’s more concerned about Sheppard; his face is purpled and every few breaths he gives a hacking cough.

He waits anxiously, until Sheppard starts to get his breath back and that awful purple color fades to patchy pink – staring at him in concern the entire time – until he can’t bite his tongue any longer. “Are _you_ okay, John?”

Sheppard had closed his eyes after slumping down next to him, but now they slowly open and he looks at Rodney peculiarly. “I’m fine, Rodney. Just needed to get my breath back.”

When that obviously doesn’t mollify Rodney – he’s far too accustomed to Sheppard glossing over injuries and deflecting his own pains – Sheppard gives a reluctant eye roll. “Really, Rodney. I’m okay. Nothing that a little bit of rest won’t fix. I promise.” His eyes lock on Rodney’s at those words and Rodney can only nod faintly in response.

“Uh, so uh…” Rodney coughs and tries again. “So, what happened? I mean, did Teyla and Ronon get out?”

Sheppard nods, giving him a small smile. “Yeah. Sorry about the change of plans there, buddy.” He pats a hand over Rodney’s knee. “Ronon got darted as he was running with you. Took him a bit to go down, but I guess he managed to get you set down with no additional damage.” There’s an uncertainness to his expression again as he says that, but Rodney doesn’t interrupt to reassure him that he really is fine. “Teyla saw him take the hit, and she ran back for him. She’s the one who dialed the gate. Think she might’ve got darted as well. I ordered her to get Ronon through the gate while someone still could.”

Rodney can just imagine Teyla’s expression at following that order. “She pissed?”

“Furious beyond the telling of it,” Sheppard confirms with a soft chuckle. “She practically dragged Ronon with her, but she got them both through.”

“Good, that’s good, John,” Rodney insists with a calm surety he doesn’t really feel. “They’ll find a way to get us.”

“Well, these damn Tergians must’ve rushed right back to their getting their tech up and running. I’d expected to hear back from Atlantis on my comms at least. You know, thought there’d be a window to get a message through.”

“Nothing?”

Sheppard shakes his head. They both know what that means.

“So, how far did you say that the nearest gate was by jumper?”

“Well,” Sheppard answers reluctantly, “we’ll have better luck waiting on the Daedalus. Let’s just say that.”

“Right. So, uh… should I be worried about this uh… poison?” It comes out rather querulous, but Rodney has to ask.

Defeat isn’t a good look on Sheppard’s face, neither is hopelessness. He’s trying to hide both behind his usual stoicism, but Rodney’s long since learned to see past that particular layer of veneer. “I don’t know, buddy. I mean, we don’t even know if you got dosed with something else. Maybe we’re wrong? It could just be the regular nerve dart causing that discoloration.”

“Right,” Rodney says again, trying to force some levity in the word. “Right, it could’ve been something else. Maybe it’s just the metal from the dart? I mean, I do have sensitive skin.” Which isn’t all that implausible. He’s been allergic to weirder things.

This time it’s Sheppard who says, “Right. Yeah, maybe.” He’s trying, Rodney knows, but there’s no disguising the despair coloring his words.

“Well, we’ve got food. We’ve got water. I think we’ve got some blankets in our packs.” Sheppard gestures toward the back of the cave with his chin and Rodney looks where he’s indicating. He hadn’t noticed earlier (what with the waking up after being hit by a nerve dart and thinking he’d had a stroke thing) but all four of their packs are stacked against the far wall of the cavern. Which means they’ve also got some medical supplies and a few other bits of survival gear that’ll help them last until rescue arrives (or the Tergians decide they’ve had enough of keeping people from coming through the gate and they can leave on their own).  

“Oh, well. Food, water and blankets. We’re good then,” Rodney says brightly.

The laugh that comes out on Sheppard’s next exhale is a little hoarse and maybe a little wild, but there’s genuine amusement there as well. “Right. We’re totally fine.”

Getting even that much feels like some precious achievement and Rodney closes his eyes and basks in it for a long moment.

“Thirsty?” Sheppard asks some time later. And maybe Rodney dozed a bit, because Sheppard’s no longer sitting next to him. He’s back with the packs and already has one of the thin, military sleeping bags unfurled.

“Yeah,” Rodney says, mouth feeling suddenly parched. Of course, he might’ve forgotten about being half paralyzed for a minute there, because he tries to lever himself up on an elbow and fails spectacularly. All he succeeds in doing is flailing his ‘good’ arm awkwardly.

Sheppard rolls his eyes. “Let me help you there, Rodney.” He crouches down next to Rodney and gets a hand behind his neck.  “C’mon, we’ll get you sitting up.” He pushes one of the packs behind Rodney’s back for support (and cushioning, thank goodness!) and then sort of shimmies Rodney’s body across the cavern floor until he can sit propped up. Rodney tries to help, pushing at the ground with his non-numb foot… but it’s too weak to do little more than glide over the dirt and sand.

“Hey, hey,” Sheppard chides. “Relax, Rodney. I’ve got you.”

Yeah, he’s talking about getting Rodney settled so he can get some water, but there’s a… certain something in the way Sheppard says those words that sends a pang of something…  well, something, through Rodney’s chest. There are a _lot_ of somethings.

“I know you do, John.” Rodney replies, voice soft.

Sheppard looks at him, and there’s a brief, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment where his face is unguarded, and Rodney can’t even fathom all the things he sees there. Maybe that cat is alive after all? Of course, right after that, Sheppard turns away from him to get the canteen, and when he turns back, the mask is back in place, firmly affixed.

Still, Sheppard is gentle as he once again cups a hand at Rodney’s nape and helps him balance the canteen as he grips it with his good arm. He takes a few long swallows.

Once the water hits his belly, Rodney’s stomach rumbles.

“Hungry?”

Rodney shrugs one shoulder. “Guess so. Hard to tell,” he admits. The whole ‘half-numb’ thing is making it difficult to read his body’s needs.

“We should eat,” Sheppard says, deciding for the both of them. “It’s been a long ass day.”

Though he makes a noise of agreement, Rodney doesn’t say anything else. He’s content to just watch as Sheppard sorts through the MREs and then picks out two of them. It makes Rodney grin the way that Sheppard shuffles through the contents and switches them up, trading desserts and drink packets. He and Sheppard tend to be pretty compatible when it comes to MREs; the things Rodney doesn’t like (or can’t have due to citrus content) Sheppard is always more than happy to swap for.

“Beef stew okay?” Sheppard asks, a bit belatedly as he’s already got the entrée heating.

“Yeah, sounds good.” He gives a wry sort of chuckle. “Not a terrible last meal.”

Sheppard fumbles the drink packet he’s tearing at, and he shoots Rodney a look. It’s bleak and despairing and Rodney feels like an ass for trying to make a joke.

“Sorry, McKay. I’d cook up those birds Teyla got, but I don’t wanna risk a fire.” He sounds genuinely regretful and Rodney hates that he made Sheppard feel that way.

“That’s okay, John. You know me. I like MREs. I’m not complaining.”

That at least makes Sheppard smile, as small and short-lived as the expression is.

Silence falls again while Sheppard finishes readying their dinner. Of course, it’s not until he’s carried the entrée packet over that Rodney realizes the problem. He’s still only got one working arm, and either Sheppard is going to have to hold up his dinner for him, so he can clumsily try to scoop out forkfuls or…

“I think I’m gonna have to feed you, Rodney,” Sheppard says, which saves Rodney the trouble of asking.

“Probably be easiest,” Rodney agrees, ignoring the way his cheeks grow warm at the thought.

“Here,” Sheppard hands over a cup that’s steaming slightly. “Why don’t you drink this first.”

Rodney smells it before he gets his fingers around the cup and he lets out a blissful sigh. Coffee. It’s just the military issue instant, but Rodney savors every mouthful while Sheppard makes a couple of trips to carry the contents of their meal over to Rodney’s side. He stages things between them and then sits cross-legged near Rodney’s’ hip, facing him.

Swallowing the last bitter drop Rodney sighs again. “I sometimes forget how much I love coffee.” At Sheppard’s raised brow, Rodney is forced to admit. “Okay, maybe I never really _forget_. But, you know… it’s nice to be reminded.”

“Why don’t you hold onto this,” Sheppard suggests, handing over the pouch of beef stew.

It’s warm in Rodney’s hand. “Okay, got it.”

“Right, yeah.” Sheppard’s throat works in a visible swallow. “Okay.” He dips the spork into the pouch and scoops out a heaping spoonful.

It’s… less awkward than Rodney thought it would be. At least once Sheppard relaxes. It only takes one spill and Rodney’s griping “Dammit, watch it, John. That’s hot!” to prompt Sheppard to snark back. “Well, maybe if you’d hold the damn bag still.”

And once they’re bitching at each other, sniping and arguing playfully, everything else seems inconsequential. Sheppard doesn’t shy away from rubbing a knuckle over Rodney’s lower lip to wipe away a smudge of gravy when one of his spoonfuls goes slightly awry, and Rodney snorts out a ridiculous laugh at the salacious expression that crosses Sheppard’s face at discovering his cookie is a chocolate chunk.

The only thing that brings down the levity and easy comradery is the way that Sheppard keeps surreptitiously glancing at his watch.

Rodney knows what he’s thinking about. It was eight hours before Hayes showed any signs of having been poisoned.

“Hey,” Rodney finally says, after Sheppard has cleared away the remnants of their dinner and is sitting next to Rodney, helping him get comfortable lying back on the sleeping bag. “Stop that.”

Sheppard blinks. “Stop what?”

“That thing you’re doing,” Rodney slaps at Sheppard’s wrist with his good arm. “The watch-checking.”

“Oh,” Sheppard ducks his chin. “Sorry, Rodney. I just…”

Whatever he just, Sheppard doesn’t say, but Rodney understands.

“Look, I get it. And hey, I’m feeling fine, John. I mean… it’s been what?” He calculates the time between now and when he first got hit with the dart. “Six hours or so? Right?”

“Yeah, around that.”

“So, look. Wouldn’t I start showing some signs? I mean, we don’t even know if Hayes started feeling symptoms before he collapsed in the mess. Maybe he ignored them, or thought it was just after effects of the dart?”

Sheppard shrugs. “Maybe. But we don’t know, Rodney.”

“Well, I’m just going to relax and get comfortable and that seventh hour is going to pass and nothing’s going to happen.”

No sooner has he spoken those words when that faint frisson of electricity judders down his spine and he can’t help but wince.

“Rodney?” Sheppard’s kneeling over him in an instant. “What’s the matter? What is it?” His hands are hovering near Rodney’s face, like he’s afraid to touch.

“Nothing,” Rodney hurries to say. “I’m fine.” But, he’s starting to have doubts. Maybe those weird, tingling jolts aren’t from the dart, as Rodney suspected, but are a symptom of the poison? Shit, has he been ignoring being poisoned this whole time?

“Rodney.” This time Sheppard’s use of his name carries a warning.

“Okay,” Rodney caves. “Okay, it’s probably nothing. I mean, it’s probably just the dart. But I’ve been getting these tingly sensations that kind of shoot down my spine.”

“Oh, Christ,” John breathes out. “Why the hell didn’t you say something?”

He doesn’t want to get defensive, but sometimes John brings that out in him. “Because I only noticed it after being jostled around by Ronon. I figured all that motion did something to the dart. I mean, it’s definitely an electrical sensation I’m feeling.  It’s not like any kind of poisoning symptoms I’ve ever heard.”

“We don’t even know what that poison did to Hayes,” Sheppard points out. “What if he thought the same thing and blamed it on the dart. You just said it yourself just a couple of minutes ago!”

Well, yes, he did. But he’s not owning up to that now!

Instead, he blusters, “Whatever is happening is definitely dart related. I’m sure of it.”

It’s weird, but seeing Sheppard roll his eyes gives Rodney comfort… helps him to calm down.

“Oh, you’re sure.”

“Yes, I am.” Rodney kind-of-nods. Then he can’t think of anything else to say, so he just lays there in smug silence.

Sheppard settles in next to him. He’s got his own sleeping bag, though he’s done little more than unbuckle the straps that keep it rolled tight, and it’s sitting in a loose bundle on the cave floor between them.

Smugness only lasts so long and Rodney is good with neither silence nor inaction, so he starts getting fidgety after a few minutes.

Naturally, Sheppard notices. “Problem, McKay?”

He doesn’t really want to admit that he’s starting to focus on the fact that these may be his last moments alive, and he kind of hates that he’s spending them in a cave, unable to move.  The being stranded with Sheppard part is about the only good thing going (he’s had many a fantasy that started off this way, though in all of them, he was able to move. Okay, maybe not _all_ … but that was voluntary!). He doesn’t want to unload all of that onto Sheppard though. He might as well just admit he wants to jump Sheppard’s bones and may be a little bit in love with him (or, maybe a lot).

Instead, he just says, “My nose itches.”

Sheppard exhales a very loud, very put-upon sigh, but he reaches over and lightly scrapes a blunt fingernail over the bridge of Rodney’s nose for a few seconds and then draws his hand away.

“Better?”

“Yeah,” Rodney says, though he kind of wishes Sheppard would keep scratching, or… touching him in some way.

Maybe Sheppard can read that on him, because he rests his hand on Rodney’s’ shoulder, and leaves it there.

Another few minutes pass and Rodney sighs.

“What’s up?” Sheppard’s got his head leaned back against the cave wall and his eyes closed, but he’s nowhere close to asleep.

“I dunno,” Rodney admits. “I just… this isn’t how I wanna go, yanno?”

“Rodney–”

Rodney cuts him off before he can be all sympathetic or stoic or whatever he’s going to be. “No, look, John. I mean, we don’t even know if I’m dying. I could be. Or maybe I’m not. And... and…” Damn he really wishes he could flail his arms! “And, I can’t move half of my body. And that’s bullshit. If I’m going to die, I’d really rather go out on my terms.”

“What’re you–”

“No, wait. Hear me out,” Rodney interrupts. “I have an idea, and you’re not going to like it. But I need you to remember that I may be dying here. So, hear me out.”

Sheppard’s eyes are open now and he’s side-eying Rodney with suspicion. “What’s your idea?”

“The dart; take it out.”

Sheppard shakes his head, stubborn. “No, Rodney. For all we know, that’s what killed Hayes. Maybe if his team hadn’t pulled it out, it might’ve… I don’t know. Stopped the poison from getting into his system? Stopped it spreading?”

“You don’t know that, John,” Rodney argues. “And, I’m sorry. But if I _am_ poisoned and I _am_ dying, I want to be able to move in my final hours or minutes or whatever the hell I’ve got left.”

“I can’t, Rodney.”

“Dammit, John. You know the dart’s going to stop working soon enough. They’ve only got a limited power supply. And if the dart is doing anything to stave off this poison, it’ll be a moot point by then. Just… please, I don’t want to die like this.”

Sheppard turns away, a hoarse noise escaping his throat. “Rodney…” he starts to say, but apparently doesn’t have words to follow.

Rodney’s had enough of the John Sheppard self-flagellation hour though. He’ll hate himself if he doesn’t help Rodney remove the dart, and he’ll hate himself equally if he does… there’s no winning with him!

If things weren’t so dire, Rodney would laugh at how much he wants to throttle the man sometimes (it’s almost as much as he wants to kiss him… so it’s a pretty constant thing).

The best option, Rodney knows, is to take the choice out of his hands. Sheppard abhors not being in control and hates it even more when other people make choices for him, but Rodney can’t sit back and watch him suffer through this. (Which he realizes is kind of ridiculous, considering _he’s_ the one dying, but… nothing about his and Sheppard’s friendship has ever been anything but ridiculous).

So, make the decision for him. But, how? He can’t take the dart out himself.

Or can he?

He’d tried to reach the back of his neck earlier, when he’d come to under Ronon’s watchful gaze. But he’d barely been conscious, and he’d only just gotten feeling back in his left side. Maybe… yes! He reaches behind his head and probes gingerly down to the base of his skull. That’s where Ronon had said it was, right? His fingers catch on the little invasive piece of alien tech after only a few seconds of exploration. It’s no bigger than a wireless mouse dongle, and he gets it pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

Before he can second guess himself – or think about all the reasons why this is such a terrible, horrible idea – Rodney yanks.

The dart comes loose easily, and Rodney crows out a noise of triumph.

Which makes Sheppard turn around to look at him. His eyes are red and confused and then they go implausibly wide once they see what Rodney’s holding in his hand.

“McKay!” Sheppard shouts. “What the hell did you do?”

It’s not easy, but Rodney resists the urge to shout right back. Instead he bounces the little vicious looking dart in his hand. “I took it out.”

“Dammit, Rodney. What the hell were you thinking? You could’ve… you don’t know…” he’s close to apoplectic.

“Hey,” Rodney says, soft, placating. “Hey, John, c’mon. It’s okay. I’m okay. Really, I’m okay.” Already he’s getting pins and needles sensations in his extremities, which - yeah, okay, not pleasant, but better than numb nothingness. “It’s already wearing off, John.”

Sheppard presses the heels of both hands to his own forehead and scrunches his whole face up. “Jesus, Rodney. I can’t believe you did that.”

Rodney lifts his chin. “Yes, well. If I’m going to go out, I want to have a say in how it happens. And I want the chance to move again before it does.

“Yeah, well,” Sheppard drawls, “I’m blaming you if you die.”

Pausing to pretend he’s considering that a moment, Rodney finally gives a nod. “That’s fair.”

“Hey, you nodded.”

“Well, yeah. I’ve been nodding all day.”

That gets him smacked on the bicep. “No, Rodney. Before when you were nodding it was like you were tipping your head to this side.” He demonstrates and Rodney really hopes he hasn’t looked quite so ridiculous. “But just now, your whole head moved straight up and down.”

Rodney frowns. There’s something so familiar about this conversation. When it comes to him, he snaps his fingers on his left hand, but he can feel an echoing twitch in his right. “Mostly dead,” Rodney says with a laugh.

“Huh?”

“Mostly dead,” he repeats. “You know, ‘a little head jiggle is supposed to make me happy’?”

It hits Sheppard after a beat, and there’s a moment where he looks like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or… not cry, but not not cry either. Luckily, he settles for the former, chuckling softly. “Yeah, you’ve been mostly dead all day.”

“Thank goodness I’m my own Miracle Max.”

Sheppard rolls his eyes. “A withered old has-been?”

“Hey,” Rodney protests. “That was only because the king’s stinking son fired him.” He elbows Sheppard’s knee. “You know, that makes me Westley and you Inigo.”

“Ronon is definitely Fezzik,” they both agree.

John frowns. “So, does that make Teyla Buttercup?”

Rodney thinks about that for a moment. Teyla is definitely _not_ Buttercup. Teyla is more like Inigo, really. And, to be fair, Sheppard is much more a Dread Pirate Roberts than he’ll ever be, but… that makes him Buttercup then.

And maybe he _is_ Buttercup in this scenario… but he’s probably stretched this metaphor too far.

Although, it’s actually a pretty good opening for him to maybe start admitting some of the things he really does feel about John.

There’s an ‘As you wish,’ searing itself on to his tongue while he struggles to spit the words out, when something else happens instead.

His body shudders. The whole of it, starting from the top of his head and juddering down his entire body to each limb and then each extremity.

And it doesn’t stop.

Sheppard – who’d been muttering to himself about whether or not Prince Humperdink was more like Woolsey or O’Neill or Todd the Wraith – notices and he twists onto his hands and knees at Rodney’s side.

“McKay? Hey, what’s going on?”

Rodney’s shaking too much to answer. His teeth are clattering together and fine tremors are working their way under his skin. He feels like his very bones are rattling.

“Rodney!”

He tries again to force out words. “’m okay, John.” Which is pretty much the most obvious lie he’s ever told.

“Dammit. God dammit, Rodney, I told you not to take that damn dart out.” Sheppard gets a hand on either of his shoulders, trying to steady his shaking.

Is this a seizure? Rodney has no idea. He didn’t think it was possible to talk during a seizure. But since he can…

 “Look, John… before I…  There’s something… I need to say–”

“Don’t you fucking dare, McKay,” Sheppard bites out, harsh and raw.

“Fine,” Rodney sighs through chattering teeth. “Fine. The… cat stays in the box.”

Sheppard obviously doesn’t know what to make of that non-sequitur. Instead he presses his forehead to Rodney’s, hands fisting in Rodney’s collar, and urgently whispers. “Tell me after you survive this. Okay? Live through this and then you can tell me. And I’ll listen. Okay? I’ll listen and won’t be a dick about it. Okay? Deal?”

“Yeah,” Rodney gasps out, as the shivering and shaking becomes worse. It’s so bad that even Sheppard is vibrating with it. “D…deal.”

It all builds up to a horrible, painful crescendo, and Rodney’s body bows up from the sleeping bag, back arcing unnaturally, legs and arms splayed in an awful akimbo. Sheppard holds tight to him, never taking his forehead from where it’s pressed tight to his. He’s muttering urgently under his breath, “Hang on, Rodney. C’mon, don’t leave me.”

Whatever is happening peaks, and Rodney cries out – it’s fucking agony! – and then his body slumps back down and things go black.

He drifts… aware of nothing but the darkness that’s subsumed him.

It’s quiet… peaceful.

And Rodney starts to worry. Because quiet and peaceful doesn’t make any damn sense.

Is he _dead_?

No.

No! There’s no way that he’s dead. No damn way. Not when he’s got a promise from John Sheppard that he’ll listen to whatever Rodney wants to tell him – will listen to Rodney’s profession of want and need and desire – and _not_ be a dick about it!

How can he be dead when he’s got that to live for?

All at once he becomes aware of a slowly throbbing pain, radiating out from his chest. It’s rhythmic, almost to a beat, though it pauses every so often and Rodney feels a different sensation. This one of pressure, filling him. Then it’s back to that steady ache, ache, ache.

Rodney blames the fact that he maybe – sort of, just a little bit – died for a few seconds, that it takes him so long to recognize that Sheppard is doing CPR. On him.

Weakly, he slaps an arm up at Sheppard, flailing at whatever part of him he can reach. Of course, he realizes how stupid that was once Sheppard stops… because, that had been Sheppard’s mouth on his. Sheppard pushing his own air into Rodney’s lungs. With his lips… on Rodney’s.

“Rodney?”

Opening his eyes kind of hurts, but Rodney manages to crack them slowly.

It’s worth the effort to see Sheppard beaming down at him like he’s some kind of super-fast space ship, and a zed-p-m, and a Ferris wheel all rolled into one.

“Hey,” he croaks out.

“Hey,” Sheppard whispers, and Rodney already knows they’re both going to ignore the wetness gathered at the corners of Sheppard’s eyes.

And, maybe they stare at each other for a little bit longer than normal. Although, Rodney doesn’t know what would be classified as normal in a case like this, so he isn’t going to stop. Neither, apparently, is Sheppard.

Eventually, Sheppard clears his throat, but his voice is almost as crackly as Rodney’s when he asks, “How ya feelin’?”

Rodney takes stock. His chest feels kind of sore, and his throat is dry, and his neck is stiff, and he’s a bit achy all-over. He shrugs – both shoulders this time – “Eh, I’m fine.”

“Jesus, Rodney,” Sheppard breathes out, and then he presses his forehead back down to Rodney’s again. His hands push into Rodney’s hair. “I really thought you were dead.”

Since he’s got feeling back pretty much all over, Rodney tentatively lifts a hand to the back of Sheppard’s head, splaying his fingers through the mink-dark, unruly hair. “Well, I’m not. I’m okay.”

Sheppard doesn’t say anything, but he nods and the motion rocks both of their heads together.

“So, uh,” Rodney begins tentatively, because if now isn’t the right time, there’s _never_ gonna be one. “you know that thing you told me not to say–” He breaks off when Sheppard pulls away, and wants to curse himself for being such a pushy asshole.

But Sheppard just moves far enough that he can sit at Rodney’s side and look him in the eye. “Yeah,” Sheppard nods. He looks like he’s steeling himself, but he doesn’t look afraid or angry. Just accepting. Okay, maybe a little scared, but mostly he looks ready to hear what Rodney has to say. “Yeah, that stuff I’m not supposed to be a dick about.”

“Right,” Rodney laughs, quick and a little manic. “Right. Well, uh…”

Only now that he’s got carte blanche to say it, he can’t really find the words. His tongue takes over, bypassing his brain completely. “See, there’s this box. I mean, you know the box, with the cat. And that cat is alive and it’s dead, and I kind of wondered if you were like that cat. I mean not you, you… but the way you feel. About me.” Rodney knows he’s babbling and Sheppard is very kindly _not_ eyeing him like he’s a crazy man. Though, he is grinning softly. “It’s just, I know how _I_ feel. And, I hoped maybe you might… well, also feel that. But then if I didn’t know, it was like that cat. You know? If I never knew how you felt then you always felt that way. And I didn’t have to risk opening the box to see if the cat was alive or dead. And that was,” –he flails his hands helplessly– “safe, and easy and wouldn’t mean that you’d, like, hate me or anything.”

Sheppard’s grin, damn him, is growing wider and wider. Those stupidly handsome hazel eyes are bright with amusement.

Rodney snorts. “Yeah, sure. Laugh at the man who’s trying to spill his guts. I mean, I know I’m doing a shitty job, and I keep talking about the cat, but I don’t know how else–”

This time, Sheppard grabs his hands to stop him talking. “Hey, Rodney.”

But Rodney’s not done, “No, you said you wouldn’t be a dick. So, listen–”

“McKay,” Sheppard barks out, though he’s still smiling. “Just, gimme a sec, okay?”

He tugs his arms away from Sheppard’s grip and crosses them over his chest petulantly. “Fine. Fine, ruin my moment.”

Sheppard doesn’t say anything for a minute, but he shifts so that he’s on his knees, and then he leans forward, pressing palms to the cavern floor on either side of Rodney’s head, hovering over him with their faces only inches apart. “Rodney,” Sheppard says, suddenly serious.

Rodney swallows. “Uh, yeah, John?”

“The cat is fucking alive, okay?”

“The cat is…” Rodney starts to repeat, puzzled. Then he gets it. “OH! The cat is alive!” Jesus, it was _his_ damn metaphor!

“Yeah,” Sheppard’s smirk returns in full force. “And the cat is going to kiss you, okay?”

“More than,” Rodney gasps out, suddenly breathless. “More than okay.”

And maybe Sheppard’s a little too careful and a little too tentative – although Rodney can’t really blame him since he was kind of dead for a few seconds there – but he _kisses_ Rodney, catching his lips with gentle, tender little glancing touches. And then his tongue traces Rodney’s lower lip and his teeth catch softly at that same spot, tugging faintly and Rodney appreciates the sweetness, he really does, but he really was only mostly dead, and he’s feeling much better.

He surges up, kissing John the way he’s always wanted to, wet and full and breathless. He can feel Sheppard trying to hold back, to keep things slow, and sweet, but Rodney is nothing if not persistent.

He knows the minute Sheppard gives in because he doesn’t just kiss back with his mouth, he does it with his whole body. His hands find their way to skin, one burrowing under his T-shirt, hot against Rodney's belly, and the other pushing roughly into his hair, scraping blunt nails and catching tufts between clenching knuckles. He gets a knee between Rodney’s thighs and it feels like he rolls his whole body over Rodney’s in some sinuous undulation that catches and rubs at every single erogenous zone Rodney’s ever had.

Christ, it’s a good thing he got dying out of the way already today, because Sheppard’s close to taking him there again.

Of course, Rodney’s quick to get back some of his own. He’s dreamt and fantasized about (and, okay, jerked-off to) the idea of touching Sheppard and getting him naked and figuring out what makes him whimper and what makes him swear. Never afraid to be pushy, Rodney yanks and tugs at Sheppard’s uniform shirt, and he doesn’t so much as progress to taking it off – because he’s got other objectives for his hands – as leave it to Sheppard to handle.

It gets a bit awkward between them, since he’s trying to get at someone’s belt – either one, he’s not picky at this point – and Sheppard is still kissing him like he’s giving CPR, and also trying to get them both out of their shirts.

“Wait,” Rodney gasps out, the words barely slipping past Sheppard’s lips, they’re pressed so tight to his.

And Sheppard does, instantly. Every bit of him goes still and he draws his head away far enough to look Rodney in the eyes. “You okay?”

Rodney doesn’t scoff – much – because it’s pretty damn endearing the way Sheppard’s so tuned into him. But he doesn’t want there to be any mixed messages. “I’m fine, John. I’m good. I’m great!”

Sheppard’s brows dip inward. “Then what’s wr–”

“Nothing,” Rodney hurries to say before Sheppard can even finish the question. “I’m just calling a very brief timeout for clothing removal.”

He’d never really realized before just how many nuances Sheppard could manage in a simple smirk, but this one is definitely telegraphing agreement and desire and impatience.

“Right,” Rodney responds to that last. “C’mon, clothes off.”

It’s not exactly a race to get naked, except where it is, because everything is a competition between them. Rodney’s at an unfair disadvantage, what with still being kind of weak and wobbly, but he uses the time that it takes Sheppard to get to his feet to his benefit, shucking down BDUs and boxers all the way to his knees and then kicking them off his feet while he gets tangled up struggling out of his shirt.  Sheppard’s still got his boots on, and he loses time for that, but he’s military and pretty much an expert at stripping down quick and efficient.

Rodney claims victory, though.

“How do you figure,” Sheppard asks, even as he’s already pushing Rodney back down into the sleeping bag, thumbs stroking over Rodney’s nipples and a knee riding up Rodney’s thigh.

“Uh…” Rodney had a thought there, didn’t he?

Right, even if Sheppard had managed to get all of his clothes off first, Rodney had still been the first one naked _and_ horizontal.

He tries to explain that, but Sheppard’s hairy chest, and the soft skin of his inner thighs and that plush belly over firm abs are far too distracting.  And Sheppard’s cock is right there, and Rodney can look at it… can touch it.

Still, he asks. “Can I touch you?” Which seems silly, considering there’s hardly a point of contact lacking between their bodies.

“Hell, yeah, Rodney,” John insists. “Anything you want.” And then he goes a step further and grabs at Rodney’s hand, pushing it down to his hard cock.

He circles it lightly at first, with just his fingertips. It feels… well, it feels like a cock. That’s kind of what they all feel like; soft, silky skin over firm hardness beneath. Sheppard’s circumcised, which isn’t something he’s all that familiar with, and there’s a lot less skin, but it’s clear from the sounds Sheppard makes when Rodney closes his fingers in a tight grip and strokes, that it’s _really_ not that much different than his own. When he drags his thumb over the welling tip, spreading moisture across the plush, plummy head, Sheppard growls and pushes Rodney into the floor and kisses him with wild abandon.

Stroking Sheppard’s cock, while Sheppard is practically fucking Rodney’s mouth with his tongue pretty much feels like the best thing ever.

And then Sheppard works a hand between them, and he does his own exploration of their differences. Either he’s familiar with the handjob/foreskin conundrum, or he’s a quick learner (Rodney will find out later) but he’s quick to amend his previous thought: mouth sex kissing and mutual masturbation definitely tops the list.

It’s clear though, that neither of them are in a rush to get off. Rodney’s got goals, dammit. He wants to taste every part of Sheppard, and he wants to feel Sheppard’s hands, and lips and hell, even his cock over his entire body.

He revels in the little noise of complaint Sheppard makes when he looses his grip on Sheppard’s cock, but soothes it a moment later by grazing his fingertips over Sheppard’s balls and then that little stretch of skin behind them.

“Jesus, Rodney,” Sheppard grounds out, nipping at his mouth and his chin and his jaw. “Fuck, that’s so good.”

He’d imagined – far too many times – what Sheppard’s voice would sound like during sex. His imagination was nowhere near as good as this. It’s low, and throaty and there’s just a hint of that petulant whine, and Rodney’s already adding ‘have Sheppard talk him through getting off’ to the (ever-growing) list of things he wants Sheppard to do to him.

“Stay that again, John.”

“What, fuck?”

“Yeah,” Rodney nods eagerly.

“Fuck, Rodney,” Sheppard repeats, and he accompanies it with a teasing squeeze and stroke of Rodney’s cock. “Yeah, Rodney.”

“Oh, god!”

And maybe Sheppard’s just intuitive, or can feel it in the throb of Rodney’s cock, but he backs off, eases his grip and presses soothing kisses to Rodney’s throat. And Rodney _doesn’t_ come.

Though he does gripe about it a little bit. “God, I’m so close, Sheppard. How can you do that. I’m dying here.”

“No,” Sheppard tells him firmly, heat and sincerity both weighing down the words. “You’re not. You’re here, with me, and you’re alive and you feel so good…” He pulls back just a moment from his assault on Rodney’s throat to grin, feral and possessive. “I’m not done with you yet, McKay.”

It probably shouldn’t make Rodney’s balls ache to hear that proprietary tone to Sheppard’s voice, but it certainly does.

“Hey,” Rodney says softly a few minutes later, from where he’s biting and sucking at the thin skin behind one of Sheppard’s ridiculously pointy ears. “You know there’s probably condoms in the medkit.”

Sheppard huffs a laugh into Rodney’s skin, but says, “Nah.”

And, maybe Sheppard isn’t understanding him? “No, I’m pretty sure there are.” He pulls back to catch Sheppard’s gaze. “I mean, for you. To use on me. Not the other way around.” Because maybe that’s what Sheppard’s worried about? He’d seemed receptive to having his ass played with, but that’s probably something Rodney should ask about first. That’s why he’s the one offering.

“No,” Sheppard says again, firmly.

Rodney pouts. “But… I’m _fine_ , John! This is me. I let the world know when I’ve got a damn paper cut. You know I wouldn’t lie about that.” He adds, perhaps a moment too late, “Even for sex.”

Sheppard holds his ground. “I’m not fucking you twenty minutes after you practically died, Rodney. That’s crazy.”

“It’s been longer than twenty minutes,” Rodney argues, which, okay … not the right thing to focus on there. “And, I didn’t die. Not really.” He pets at Sheppard’s chest. “C’mon, John.”

But Sheppard has clearly made up his mind about this.

However, because Rodney is persuasive, and maybe plays the ‘C’mon I almost died’ card, he _is_ able to convince Sheppard to fetch the condoms and the medical grade lubricant from the medkit. And Rodney finds himself on his back with his knees spread wide and Sheppard kneeling between them. Sheppard’s mouth is gliding down Rodney’s cock, spit-slick and messy, while two of his lubed and condom covered fingers push deep into Rodney, stroking and thrusting until they hit just the right spot. Rodney’s fingers clench to fists in Sheppard’s hair and he whines and whimpers.

“Oh, god. John. Please, please.”

This time, Sheppard gives in. He hollows his cheeks around Rodney’s cock and somehow manages to flick at the frenulum with his tongue, while his thick fingers glide over Rodney’s prostate again and again.

“Fuck, fuck… oh, god. John!” Coming almost feels like dying. But better… much, much better.

Sheppard swallows the first pulse, but pulls off after and strokes Rodney through the rest of his orgasm, squeezing out splashes and drops that rain warmth on Rodney’s belly, until Rodney’s whimpering and shuddering and slumped into a boneless mass on the sleeping bag.

He drifts in that post-orgasmic buzz for quite a while, lungs working hard as he catches his breath, and spots still dancing behind his eyes.

The strange, not altogether unpleasant, sensation of Sheppard sliding his fingers out of Rodney’s ass is finally what brings him back around. He opens his eyes slowly, reminded of earlier that morning, when he’d been so certain that he was waking up after some kind of traumatic experience. This is the exact opposite. And it’s a category he’s experienced far too infrequently: waking up after amazing sex.  He’s starting to suspect he might get the chance to get very familiar with it, though.

“How ya doin down there, Rodney?” Sheppard asks, his tone playful and maybe just a hair cautious.

“I’m good, John. I’m so, so good. You knocked me out better than any damn Bortari nerve dart ever could.”

“Yeah?” Sheppard asks, clearly fishing for praise from the way his eyebrows are waggling.

“Oh yeah.” Rodney lifts his head, just a little, to look down the length of his body at Sheppard. He’s still kneeling between Rodney’s thighs, and his cock is standing flush and proud between them.

“You sure you don’t wanna fuck me?” Rodney asks.

Sheppard inhales deeply through his nose, and presses his lips together firmly. He also has to wrap a hand around the base of his cock. Rodney feels smug. “Nah,” he finally says on a long exhale. “Nah, I’m good. I’m just gonna,” and he gestures vaguely and doesn’t explain what he’s gonna, but Rodney gets the gist.

“Yeah. John. Please.”

Sheppard just shimmies up Rodney’s body and rises with his knees on either side of Rodney’s chest. His cock juts out, hot and angry red, just a few inches from Rodney’s lips. “Yeah?” he asks, again.

“Oh yeah,” Rodney nods, probably a little too eager and a little too breathless. He can’t help it. Sheppard is insanely hot like this!

Sheppard takes his own cock in hand again, grip loose and gliding slowly up and down, while Rodney’s slides his palms up over Sheppard’s thighs, and curves them tight around Sheppard’s hips. And maybe, if Sheppard wasn’t so obviously close, wasn’t seconds away from coming, Rodney could convince him to fuck Rodney’s mouth, just like this.

He won’t push though. This time. But he does think that’s an idea that deserves to be heard. “Next time,” he offers, low and a little wicked, “you should let me suck you, like this.”

“Jesus!”

Rodney watches as the cords of Sheppard’s forearm go taut, and his fingers clench tight around his cock, and he comes so hard the first spurts shoot right over Rodney’s head. Sheppard tries to get his fingers over the head, to catch the rest of the hot fluid trickling out, but once he looks down to see Rodney licking his lips, and his hot-eyed gaze, he lets his hand fall away and squeezes out a few more pulses over Rodney’s chin.

“Christ, Rodney… fuck… that was…” He doesn’t really manage to get a full sentence out, but Rodney gets the gist of that as well.

“C’mere,” Rodney instructs, tugging Sheppard down.

It doesn’t take much convincing to get Sheppard to curl up with him, though he does insist on cleaning them both up with a spare t-shirt (Ronon’s from the size of it). After that though, he and Rodney shuffle and squirm to make room on the sleeping bags, and pull a thin blanket over themselves.

“So,” Sheppard says a little later, tucked up behind Rodney like the big spoon. “Got that whole cat-in-a-box thing figured out?”

Rodney thinks about all the things that they still haven’t actually said to each other. He wants to tell Sheppard he loves him, and he wants to hear Sheppard say those words to him. He wants a whole lot more than that. And he knows that Sheppard’s offering him the chance, right now, to let it all out.

But all Rodney says is, “Yeah. That cat is definitely alive.”

And Sheppard kisses the top of his head, and replies, “Oh yeah.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Epilogue~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Two days later, Rodney is scrubbing one of Ronon’s spare t-shirts clean in the nearby stream, while Sheppard is trying – and mostly succeeding – in getting one of those grouse-pheasants to cook over a carefully banked fire, when their comms ping.

“Did you hear that?” Rodney cries even as John is already on his feet and running for the cavern. Rodney follows only a step behind.

“Yeah! It’s Atlantis!”

There’s a radio in the ‘living quarters’ of the cave that Rodney has been using to periodically try and contact Atlantis, and John swears as he scrapes an elbow on the smooth stone wall in his rush to get to it.

Rodney’s a bit more careful as he squeezes through the narrow pass from the cave’s entrance, but not by much.

“I got, I got it,” Sheppard gripes – though it’s with a laugh – as Rodney tries to reach for the radio. He turns the dial and they both hear a familiar voice come through the tinny speaker:

_“Message to Colonel John Sheppard and Doctor Rodney McKay of Atlantis. This is Colonel Lorne. Please be advised, we have determined that without intervention planetside, we won’t likely be able to disrupt the Tergian’s jamming device long enough to establish a full connection and get a team or a jumper through. However, we can manage a few seconds of connection to get comm probes like this one to the other side. It’s not enough time to communicate directly, two-way, but we’ll send out periodic updates on our progress._

_“Also, be aware that Ronon and Teyla made it home safe. They were both hit by nerve darts, but Doctor Biro and the med team got them removed. There was no sign of any other pathogen in the dart. Biro thinks the discoloration you saw on Doctor McKay is likely either a mild allergic reaction or bruising at the impact site. If you need to, you should be safe to remove the dart, but only if it’s necessary. Otherwise, she says not to risk it._

_“We’ve already been in touch with the Daedalus. They’ve diverted course to rendezvous with your location prior to reaching Atlantis, and are en route to your position. You should expect to hear from them in four point seven days._

_“Teyla also wanted you to know, they’ve ferreted out the culprits of this growing rebellion in the Pegasus Alliance. It was a rogue Genii faction. Ronon says he told you so, Doc._

_“That’s all from Atlantis for now. This is Colonel Lorne, signing off.”_

The message starts over after that and John switches the radio off.

“So,” Rodney says, rubbing at the back of his neck – where there’s still a little bump at the base of his skull – while his cheeks start to pink. “Uh, maybe I shouldn’t have taken that dart out after all?”

Sheppard glares.

“Hey, in my defense, we _did_ think I’d been poisoned. And, look at me now! I’m fine.” He lets his mouth pull to the side in a playful leer. “C’mon, John. Would you really have wanted me to stay paralyzed this whole time?” He pointedly glances towards the sleeping bags that are a rather tangled, sweat-soaked mess this morning.

Smirking –his face is so often in that expression, Rodney’s fairly sure he smirks in his sleep – Sheppard takes way too long of a moment to think about that. Then his eyebrows waggle salaciously. “Hmmm, maybe I wouldn’t have minded.”

“Ugh,” Rodney rolls his eyes. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“Yeah, but you love it,” Sheppard protests, and Rodney really can’t argue with that.

Instead, he glances at Sheppard from beneath lashes lowered with mock-innocence. “So, four and a half more days stranded on an alien planet with plenty of food and water and shelter, but only our two sleeping bags to share. Whatever will we do to pass the time?”

Sheppard rolls his eyes this time, but he also honks out an obnoxious laugh and then tackles Rodney into those same sleeping bags. Pinning Rodney beneath him, Sheppard’s grin turns wicked. “Oh, I’m sure you’ve got an idea or two.”

Rodney certainly does…


End file.
